


That Teenage Feeling

by onedogtown



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: F/F, Missing Scene, Past Abuse, Trans Female Ben Hanscom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onedogtown/pseuds/onedogtown
Summary: A few moments of connection in the Derry Townhouse, on the night before the end of the world.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Rule 63 Exchange 2020





	That Teenage Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutonianshores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/gifts).



When Richie came downstairs again, a few hours later, Ben was alone in the lobby. She was too wired to try and lie down: she’d found a stack of ancient Reader’s Digests just behind her chair, all covered thickly with dust, and was flipping through one, mindlessly— just slowly enough to get a general idea of the illustrations. 

That was about all she could take in right now. It made sense to wait for morning, but that still left the problem of filling the hours. 

She heard Richie rummaging around in the area of the bar, and when he came out it was with a glass of clear liquid in each hand.

“Water,” he said, setting one down in front of her with a flourish. “Pretty sure we’ve put more than enough of a dent into the booze behind the counter.”

“You’re probably right,” Ben said. The effort of not walking over to the bar, over the past few hours, had taken more willpower than she was happy about. She needed a clear head. And reflexes. A few other things, too.

She took a drink, half-expecting the water to taste like Derry— like corpse water, basically. It didn’t, but she wasn’t at the bottom of the glass yet. There was still time. 

“You think Mike would volunteer to pay off the tab?” Richie asked. “I mean, since he tricked us into coming here. It’d be a nice gesture.”

Ben said, “I think any of us make more money than a librarian.”

“My argument was based around right and wrong,” Richie said. “Not income. But point taken.”

It was a relief to talk to another person. Ben took another, cautious, sip from the cup Richie had brought over. The two of them hadn’t been that close as kids, and meeting up again— Ben hadn’t been sure what to expect. Richie looked terrible, admittedly; he slumped in his chair like a half-filled scarecrow. But they all looked pretty terrible, at this point. 

Almost all of them. But Ben was biased; always had been.

“Is anyone actually sleeping right now?” she said, just to break up the silence. “Eddie’s in his room, Bill and Mike are out examining the most recent crime scene. Bev might have gone with them—“

“Bev’s getting a new pack of cigarettes from her car,” Richie reported. “She seemed kind of embarrassed about it, but she offered to give me some. Which was nice of her.”

“Oh, okay,” Ben said. “I just heard her go out.”

“You waiting up for her?”

Ben stared into her glass and tried to come up with a response.

“I mean, someone should, right?” Richie said. “It would be a nice gesture. If that was what you were doing.”

“Thanks,” Ben said, and decided to leave it at that. 

Richie, mercifully, seemed to feel the same discomfort that she did. “So this is fun, right?” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “I mean, Jesus Christ. I know tonight is the calm before the storm, basically, but I could have gone my whole life without remembering _any_ of this.”

“Did you?” Ben asked, curiously. “Remember any of this, I mean.”

“Nope,” Richie said, immediately. “Absolutely not. Sucks if you did, though.”

“I think I did,” Ben said. “Not IT, or the murders, or anything like that. Just this overwhelming sense of— badness. No specifics.” Richie was nodding along. “I remembered other stuff too, though. People, names, a few things that happened. It was all just disconnected, up till now. The clubhouse— you remember the clubhouse, right?”

Richie hadn’t. He had a really expressive face. She watched, sort of fascinated, as the whole process of recovering memory played out: he shook his head, then blinked, then shut his eyes tightly and shook his head back and forth a few times. Then opened them again, to stare at her.

“I just remembered building it,” Ben said. “I didn’t know how old I was, or what town, or who I’d been building it for. Just really vague impressions. But I always knew that there was something I didn’t know.”

The memory of building the clubhouse had been special to her, because she hadn’t known, while she was making it, if she would ever have the kind of friends she could bring there. She built it, and they came. It was the same sixth sense she’d felt every time she started to plan out a new building. Except without anything close to the sweetness of the payoff. 

“Yeah, you’re handling this a lot better than I am,” Richie said. He was suddenly radiating discomfort, and Ben was about to ask if he was feeling okay when he said: “I kind of would have expected this to be harder on you.” Significant look. “Being back here, I mean.” Another significant look.

“Uh,” Ben said. 

She had, honestly, expected a lot worse from Richie’s direction. He’d looked sort of bug-eyed when he’d first seen her, outside on the pavement, and then at dinner he’d mostly been conspicuously not saying anything about it at all. Which for Richie came close to actual tact. 

The closest he’d come to passing judgement was during the main course, when he’d suddenly pivoted from going after Eddie to turn in her direction and say, “Wait, guys, let’s talk about the elephant _not_ in the room.”

“Okay, so I lost a few pounds,” Ben had responded, which turned out to be even more of a hit than comparing Eddie’s mom to Jabba the Hut. 

“I mean, good for you, seriously,” Richie said now, sounding incredibly strained. “I really can’t believe that you came back here. Especially since— you’re gay, right?” Ben gave a restrained nod. “Okay, cool. I just kind of assumed, because—“

He made a complicated hand gesture, which somehow managed to convey _our friend Beverly, who you were in love with._

“We can talk about it, if you want,” Ben said, thinking _please God no._ “I figured I was dropping enough of a bombshell just by showing up.”

Ben had found that people found _it_ less scary, as a word, than _transition_. Derry was the exception to a lot of rules. 

“No, it’s fine,” Richie said quickly. “I’m just impressed, you know? I start to panic if someone on Twitter says my T-shirt isn’t cool.”

He was pretty obviously freaked out, and trying to hide it. Ben wondered if he had read the same article online she had— about the dead guy, the one who had been kissing his boyfriend in public. 

“It wasn’t as bad as I expected,” Ben said, neutrally. Which was true. She’d had an easier time with transitioning than most people, because she’d been established enough in her career that she had the money for it. And she’d managed to keep her career, too. What was she going to tell Richie, that the panic never really went away? 

She added: “You know what Mike was saying— that our lives went into easy mode as soon as we left here. As an exchange.”

“Yeah, that hasn’t been my experience,” Richie said. 

“I mean, not in your personal life, maybe, but your work?” Ben said. “For most of my career, I’d send in a rough draft, and the client would always respond with yes, amazing, perfect. It was a really creepy feeling, if I’m being honest. Life doesn’t work like that.”

Richie said, “I guess. I mean, for the record, I take absolutely no pride in what I do for a living.”

They sat there in companionable silence for about a minute, thinking about the wreckage of their lives. Ben was starting to figure out another orphaned memory: back in 1989, she’d collected another set of newspaper articles and magazine clippings from the library archives, ones that had nothing to do with Derry’s history. She’d kept them underneath her mattress in a brown manila envelope— comfortingly opaque, with a clasp that was flimsy but of extreme psychological importance. 

“I just think that it must be a lot easier,” Richie said, out of nowhere. “Like, two women in a relationship, or— you know what I mean, right?”

Ben had been in one serious relationship as an adult, with a woman who was ten years older than her and a professor of linguistics at the University of Edinburgh. Ben hadn’t been her only girlfriend, which she had found to be a relief. Pretty much the entire relationship had happened long-distance, mostly through lengthly emails about books or nature. It was almost exactly what Ben in high school or college would have imagined a serious, adult relationship would look like. 

This had lasted for a few years, until Ben flew out to Scotland for a month-long vacation and ended up leaving after a week. Maria, touchingly, had wanted to stay friends; Ben was the one to sever all ties out of embarrassment, which in retrospect made the embarrassment worse. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Ben said, and took another drink.

“I used to have a stand-up set about that,” Richie said, meditatively. “A few of them, actually, I think. Older stuff, I’d get cancelled over it now, but everything gets put on YouTube eventually. You haven’t watched my stuff, right? I kind of feel like you wouldn’t be talking to me if you did.”

“I don’t really watch much comedy,” Ben assured him.

“Oh, okay, that’s good,” Richie said. “About not watching my stuff, I mean. There’s tons of better shit out there, though. Some of it by, um, lesbians. If you wanted recommendations.”

Ben was saved from answering when the door opened. It might easily have been someone there to kill them, or Mike and Bill, but she already knew on some level that it wasn’t. 

Richie turned his head and yelled “Hey, Virginia Slim! Get in here!”

Bev came in, not smoking, but looking a lot calmer than she had an hour ago. “You two having fun?” she said.

“Temperance club. You’re missing out,” Richie said. “Derry kept Prohibition going up to the seventies, right? God, what a shithole.”

“Ben, are you being a good influence?” Bev said lightly. Ben felt a little jolt go down her spine. “Here’s your share of Marlboros, Richie.”

“Thanks,” Richie said, cramming them directly into his pocket like the human version of a raccoon. “You know what I’m really excited for? Getting a lecture about my increased risk of lung cancer in about an hour.”

“How is Eddie, by the way?” Bev said. 

“Probably talking to his _wife_ ,” Richie said, in a tone that suggested that he thought this was a particularly vicious insult.

“Maybe we should see if he’s awake?” Ben said. “It would suck if he was the only one of us alone right now.” Obviously he wasn’t asleep— she hadn’t thought about Eddie for a quarter of a century, but she still knew him. 

“Hey, you want to join the Derry Temperance Society?” Richie said suddenly. “I’ll get you something to drink.” He got up quickly. Bev turned to Ben and raised an eyebrow. 

“No, I don’t know either. He’s been kind of weird all night,” Ben said, keeping her voice down. “Uh, I should apologize? For earlier. I shouldn’t have been pushing you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bev said. She didn’t really smile, but her eyes did crinkle a little bit at the corners. “Had to talk about it sometime, right?” She raised her voice. “And it kept _some people_ from pussying out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, back in the room. He handed Bev a filled glass that was immediately recognizable as the one he’d been drinking out of; she smiled politely and put it down on the table. “So what brings you back here, Marsh? Finally decided to teach me your yo-yo tricks?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to Ben about something,” Bev said. She smiled. “Alone.”

“Ohhhh, girl talk,” Richie said— obnoxious, but in an older brother way. He stood up. “Well! In that case.” Ben tried to signal _sorry about this_ with her eyes. “No, it’s fine. I can tell when I’m being kicked out.”

“I’m fine with going upstairs to talk, if you—“ Bev said turning to Ben for her reaction. Ben had another small heart attack. 

“Eh, you can keep it,” Richie said. “I should probably be having a conversation with someone upstairs. As it happens.” 

He shot Ben a significant look, which he clearly expected her to get. 

“Well, that works out, then,” Bev said brightly. Richie walked over to the doorway, making a show of cracking his back. When he had just stepped into the hallway, he caught Ben’s eye, made one of his stupider faces, and shot her a double thumbs-up. 

“What do you need?” Ben said, as soon as she thought that Richie was most of the way up the stairs.

“Oh, I mean, it’s not— it’s not that a huge deal,” Bev said. She looked a little embarrassed. “I just need to make a phone call, and I don’t want to be alone while I make it.”

Ben said, “I’m pretty sure Bill should be back soon, if you wanted to wait…”

“I don’t,” Bev said. “I’m ending my marriage. Right now.” She smiled, a little painfully. “Last night on earth, right? I want to do something that will make me happy.”

“Great,” Ben said, immediately. “Sounds like a good cause.”

That was her role here, right? Provide unquestioning support, and try not to look at the bruises on Beverly’s arms. Ben did not think contact with Tom Rogan was a good idea— but Bev got to call the shots on this one. He was her evil husband. 

“Thanks,” Bev said. She took her phone out, and then didn’t do anything— just stared at it. 

“So, uh, what do you think is going to happen in this conversation?” Ben asked. “I mean, what’s his response?”

 _Is he going to come here,_ she meant. That might be a good thing, depending on how things played out. IT had eaten Patrick Hockstetter. 

“What?” Bev said, and then her forehead cleared. “Oh, God, Tom doesn’t have this number. I’m not calling him, I’m calling my lawyer.” She smiled, warm with contempt. “I mean, if I can stop being such a fucking coward for five seconds…”

“We can wait for Bill, seriously,” Ben said. Bev pulled a face.

“Hold my hand,” she said, staring grimly at her phone. She didn’t reach out or anything, so Ben had to, feeling vaguely that she was being punked. As soon as she felt Ben’s hand tentatively brush hers, Bev grabbed on, with a grip that was shockingly tight. She dialed.

The call got picked up pretty fast, considering what time it was. “Hi, Elaine?” Bev said, in a weirdly cheery voice that reminded Ben of a Mary Kay saleswoman. “This is Beverly Marsh. Uh, you said I could call you at any time, so— I mean, I just wasn’t sure. No, I know. Anyway, I wanted to call and talk about ending my marriage, if that’s okay? As soon as possible. Right now.”

She sounded calm enough, comparatively, but her nails were digging hard into the back of Ben’s hand. Ben didn’t wince, or make a noise; that was her job now. 

“No, we don’t have to start the official proceedings right away, I won’t be in the city for a few days,” Bev was saying briskly into the phone. “I just want it established that if I die before then, my obituary isn’t going to end with ‘survived by loving husband’— no, he has no idea where I am. No. I _don’t_ think he’s going to kill me. I wasn’t thinking about that at all, actually.”

Ben sat silently on the stiff-backed chair, didn’t cry out, and tried to project a general feeling of security. 

“Yeah,” Bev said. “Yeah. Okay. I guess— no, go back to bed, I’m sorry for waking you up. I hope Penelope feels better. Yeah, thanks. You too.” She put the phone down and looked at it blankly. “Penelope’s her kid, she’s teething right now,” she explained. She let go of Ben’s hand. There were little red half moons on the back of it. 

“That was really brave,” Ben said, directly.

“She’s been trying to get me to make that call since before I even got married,” Bev said.

“Bev—“ Ben said.

“I wasted everything,” Bev said. She didn’t sound miserable, exactly; she sounded incredulous. “My whole life, everything after I left here— it was just a waste. And I knew how miserable I was the whole time, but I didn’t know how much my life was repeating itself. I can’t get over how stupid I was.”

“You’re not the only one,” Ben said. 

Bev smiled at that, a little. “Come on,” she said. “If anyone here managed to move past high school—“

“Honestly? I don’t talk to people,” Ben said. It was the kind of thing you could get on a coffee mug, as a joke. “Like, ever. I video call the people I work with instead of seeing them in person. I have one actual friend, and it’s the bartender at the place closest to my house. Which is in the middle of nowhere, by the way. I’ve been thinking for ten years now about maybe getting a dog.”

“It’s a big decision,” Bev said quietly. 

“Honestly? Not really,” Ben said. “It’s rural Nebraska. It’s the perfect place for anything that likes to run around.” Which Ben did. The first thing she’d done after moving in was map out a track in the back of her house: endless, comforting circles. 

“I always wanted a dog,” Bev said. “Ever since I was a little kid.”

“Okay, let’s make a pact,” Ben said. They were facing each other now. Bev had curled up into herself a little, pulling her knees up to her chest. It made her look young. Ben thought involuntarily about sleepovers, girl’s nights— everything she hadn’t gotten to do in high school. “First thing we do after this, we both get dogs. And I’m sorry about your husband, by the way. I mean, that you were married to him. What?”

“Nothing,” Bev said. The weird look on her face passed, more or less. “You’re a really good person, Ben.” She reached out to touch Ben’s arm, briefly. “And— you’re really lucky.”

“Sure,” Ben said, immediately back on guard.

“I mean— I don’t want to assume anything, but you’re gay, right?” Ben managed a nod. Bev exhaled on a laugh. “Sorry for being nosy! But, wow. That must be great. I always sort of wanted— it doesn’t matter, I guess.”

Ben thought, calmly: I am absolutely going crazy. 

Was this actually happening? It was like something out of a bad movie— little nerdy kid loses a hundred pounds, goes on estrogen, and comes back to her hometown just in time to get the girl. The thing was that she might actual be able to believe it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as hopeful about anything as she did sitting around in the Derry Townhouse, waiting for her chance to kill a clown. 

Except she could: twenty-seven years, talking to a girl in an otherwise empty science classroom, right before the fire started.

“Sorry, that was too much—“

“No, you’re good,” Ben said. That was something else IT could do even without being present. Make people terrified of each other. Beverly wasn’t a threat; nothing could make her into one. “I mean, if you want to date women— you’re getting a divorce, right? No better time.”

She meant it as generalized encouragement, not as a come-on, which was kind of what it sounded like. She winced. Beverly’s eyebrows rose. 

“Yeah, I guess I will,” she said, at the same time the doors opened: Mike and Bill, yelling at each other. Ben remembered them both being a lot calmer as kids. Bev turned to look at her. It was probably just starting to get light out. 

“I guess it’s time,” Ben said. She stood up and and held out an arm, to pull Bev up with her. “Wait— can I ask you something?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Bev said quickly.

Ben hesitated; she was trying to figure out how to phrase the question. “When you saw all of us in the future, you recognized us, right?” Bev nodded, looking confused. “What did I look like?”

“Oh,” Bev said. “I mean— yeah, you looked like you. Right down to the denim.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Ben’s chest. “I didn’t think about it. I was so scared, and then afterwards I was just trying to forget about it. But, yeah, on some level I was probably thinking, wow, Ben grows up to be a hot woman. I should have told you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Ben said, immediately prepared to get into an argument about it. 

“Same as I should have told Stan,” Bev said. “Well. Too late now, right?”

“Bev—“ Ben said, taking an almost involuntary step in her direction. 

“Is everyone else upstairs?” Mike said, popping his head in. “Hi, guys.”

“Yeah, Richie and Eddie are—“ Ben said, at which point Mike was already halfway up the stairs. Ben couldn’t blame him. He was probably more than ready for this to be over. 

She turned around, back in Bev's direction, and saw that Bev was already looking at her. There didn’t seem to be much to say. Ben was just glad they’d gotten this much.

“Remember, you’re getting a dog after this,” Bev said. She smiled, a real one. “You ready?”

“Not sure there’s another option,” Ben said, but she felt good— at least, better than she had in years.

Bev ended up being the first one of them out the door. Ben followed.


End file.
